


Occam's Chainsaw Would Like To Battle

by everybodylies



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, House M.D.
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Humor, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:17:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybodylies/pseuds/everybodylies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WHAT GAME DID YOU HAVE IN MIND? </p><p>House grinned, and held up a shiny grey disk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Occam's Chainsaw Would Like To Battle

Death wasn't exactly sure how he felt about Earth. There were the obvious differences: the advanced technology, the distinct lack of narrativium, the sphereness. But at its core, the people were the same. Capable of the extraordinary and the terrible, but for most of the time, just settling for the in-between. Just like home.

On the other hand, Death's Earth-counterpart, the Grim Reaper, he liked to be called, loved the Disc. Something about the presence of magic entranced him. The Grim Reaper had called a couple of days ago complaining of being pushed to his limits, and would he mind switching domains for a week or two, thanks so much?

Death had sighed as well as he could without lungs, and relented.*

(*Death had agreed, because ever since that incident with Bill Door, he'd known the importance of taking a break every couple of centuries and finding a competent enough stand-in.)

Death's next stop was a moldy old motel in the middle of nowhere, Kansas. The only vehicles parked in the empty lot were two motorcycles, side by side. The Grim Reaper had marked this one down in his calendar as special, but had not explained why. Curious, Death made his way up the stairs to room 2B, and as he approached, he could hear male voices through the thin walls.

"I'm just saying that if you'd done the chemo, you wouldn't be dying in a dingy motel room. And it's clear from that rust color stain in the bathtub that you won't be the first."

"Who said I didn't want to die in a dingy motel room?"

"Well, when you grabbed my shirt and begged me not to let you die in an ambulance, I thought it was obvious."

"That's not the same."

"Yes, of course." The man's tone was drenched in sarcasm. "Because ambulances are the scourge of the universe. They're horrible. People hate ambulances. Now, motel rooms, on the other hand. They're great! I love 'em. My favorite part is that stench of urine that you wake up to every morning."

There was a pause.

"Sorry."

"No, no, I'm sorry."

"No, screw you. Don't do that. Don't be a doormat."

"Sorry."

The two men chuckled.

"I don't even know why we're arguing. You're not going to die tonight."

"Oh, yes, this 'plan' of yours, which is not based on any scientific fact. I'm still confused about why you need that ridiculous game."

Death walked into the motel room, through the closed door. He saw a sickly middle-aged man with a look of shock on his face lying on the bed.

JAMES WILSON?

A tall, limping man suddenly stepped between Death and the bed.

"Hi! Greg House."

Death recognized the name. The Grim Reaper would complain about him, whenever they chatted.

THIS ONE ALWAYS GIVES ME TROUBLE. HE PULLS ALL OF HIS PATIENTS BACK FROM NEAR-DEATH, WHICH RESULTS IN MANY WASTED TRIPS. THIS IS USEFUL TIME I COULD SPEND CATCHING UP ON GLEE, BUT INSTEAD I MUST SPEND IT IN HOSPITAL ROOMS WITHOUT CABLE. SO EVENTUALLY I STOPPED GOING, AND THEN I WAS LATE FOR SEVERAL ACTUAL DEATHS. ONE OF THE DEATHS I MISSED ENDED UP ALIVE. HER NAME WAS MARINA AND THEY DIAGNOSED HER WITH A THIRD OSTIUM IN HER HEART.

"And you must be Death."

THAT IS CORRECT.

"House, what the hell kind of joke are you playing at?" exclaimed the man on the bed, who, from process of elimination, must have been James Wilson.

"Not a joke."

Wilson struggled to stand up from the bed, and Death looked away. House groaned and went to help Wilson walk to where Death was standing. Wilson's eyes grew ever wider as he approached. Death removed his hood, to better convince the man. He'd noticed that, on this planet, people had a dreadful habit of not believing their own eyes.

I KNOW A JOKE, Death offered. WOULD YOU LIKE TO HEAR IT?

"… N-not right now, no thanks," Wilson stammered.

Death turned to House, whose face was full of determination. I PRESUME YOU TO INTEND TO PLAY ME FOR HIS LIFE.

"Yes."

WHAT GAME DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?

House grinned, and held up a shiny grey disk. "Ever heard of Call of Duty?"

Ten minutes later, Death said, I SEEM TO HAVE FORGOTTEN WHICH BUTTON IS FOR JUMP.

"Sucks to suck!" House laughed maliciously, as he gunned down a sniper in a second story window.

"It's the X button," Wilson said.

"Wilson!" House scolded. "I'm trying to save your life here!"

"Just making things more fair," replied Wilson mildly. "You have been playing this game for most of your adult life, to be honest."

"Life's not fair, so Death shouldn't be either," House retorted.

Death winced as he shot and killed a very realistic looking man on the small television screen. I FIND KILLING THESE PEOPLE VERY DISTASTEFUL.

"But you're Death!" Wilson exclaimed.

I DO NOT KILL. I ONLY COLLECT.

The noise of House frantically tapping his controller got steadily louder until the tinny sound of a large explosion escaped from the old television's dusty speakers.

"Yes!" House yelled, standing up in excitement, as the television screen split into two halves, one green, one red. Death's side read: Game over. "Take that, Death!"

CONGRATULATIONS. I WILL SPARE YOUR FRIEND'S LIFE.

"Not to be ungrateful or anything," Wilson interrupted, still weakly sprawled on the bed, "but how long, exactly, are you going to spare it? I mean, I still have a tumor in my neck. Can you get rid of it, or are you just going to come back tomorrow?"

THAT IS A GOOD QUESTION.

Death placed a hand on his chin, in thought. Most of the people whose lives he spared were ill children who quickly recovered the next day. But this man was still dying. Theoretically, he could cut out the man's tumor, but he didn't want to get into the habit of curing humans.

Death looked deeply at Wilson, who shrank back slightly. He concentrated, and he could see the man's history. He saw an overly nice and generous man who spent hours and hours of his waking life trying to help others, he saw a best friend who always took and rarely gave back, he saw guilt, so much guilt centered around this one man, his brother, and most importantly he saw…

YOU OWNED A CAT.

"Er… yes? She was my neighbor's. She had diabetes, and I had to take her in or else they would have—"

I LIKE CATS.

"Um…"

Before anyone could react, Death materialized his scythe in his hand and swung it through Wilson's neck.

THERE. I HAVE REMOVED YOUR TUMOR.

There was a pause, and then both men started grinning. Wilson stood up and walked over. Already, he looked pinker.

Wilson grabbed Death's bony hand. "Thank you. Very much."

YOU ARE WELCOME.

Wilson nudged House who nodded gratefully. "Thanks," he said.

YOU HAVE TIME NOW. SPEND IT WISELY. GOODBYE.

Several days later, the Grim Reaper returned, the souvenir of a wizard's hat sitting on top of his skull.

I ENDED UP CUTTING A MAN'S TUMOR OUT, Death warned. I HOPE YOU DO NOT MIND.

JAMES WILSON'S? The Grim Reaper patted Death on the back. NO WORRIES. I WAS EXPECTING TO HAVE TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT. THAT FRIEND OF HIS, GREGORY HOUSE, IS A TRICKY ONE.

YES. HE MADE ME PLAY THIS DREADFUL CALL ON DUTY GAME.

CALL _OF_ DUTY, the Grim Reaper corrected. IT'S ACTUALLY QUITE FUN. WOULD YOU CARE FOR ANOTHER GAME? HOWEVER, WE WOULD HAVE TO PLAY THE FIRST ONE. I HAD THE THIRD ONE FOR A WHILE, BUT LUCIFER HAS STOLEN IT.

Death shook his head hurriedly. The faster he got home from this bizarre planet, the better.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this story a while ago, and I got about three-quarters of my way through it when I realized that House wouldn't really be able to play for Wilson's life since Death usually agrees to play for people's lives when they are capable of recovering by themselves after Death spares their life, like if they have an infection or a wound. It doesn't really work for a tumor. So this story sat in my computer for a while until I reread it and I figured that it's worth posting. Anyway, what I want to say is: Thanks for reading, and I hope the plot hole doesn't bother you as much as it bothers me!


End file.
